Convictions (18 page)

"So do the other convicts."

He grimaced. "I know. Some of the people around here have made it clear they don't like my involvement with the work release program. They might try to use this to get the program shut down."

"Even if one of the prisoners is booked for the murder, you won't quit, will you?"

"No. I won't let one bad apple destroy all the good that's been done over the years and that can still be done in the future."

Although reluctant to do so, Olivia realized he had a point. However, the possibility that they might be housing a murderer bothered her more than she wanted her dad to see.

"Do you think Dawn is in any danger?" Olivia asked. "No more than you are."

"If you're going to be away from the house all day, you might ask Buck to keep an eye on her."

"That's not a bad idea, but she'll probably stay in the house."

Olivia shook her head. "Not if she sees Johnny Barton outside. She's got a crush on him."

"Great." Her father scowled. "That's all we need."

"I warned her to stay away from him, and she agreed to, but she gave in too easily."

"I'll take care of it, Liv." He glanced behind her. "Here comes Hank."

Olivia turned around, and her breath caught in her throat. The chambray prison shirt had been replaced by a cream-colored dress shirt and blue tie, which contrasted handsomely with his suntanned face. Her father's navy, tan, and brown herringbone suit coat covered his shoulders and made them appear even broader. Although he still wore his blue jeans and boots, the outfit gave him a casual dressy look that would've turned even the most sophisticated woman's head in Chicago.

"Sorry. Damned tie took me a few minutes to figure out," Hank said. "It's been awhile."

Olivia's father slapped his shoulder. "Don't worry about it. Looks good. You still have some time to spare. Right, Liv?"

Olivia snapped her mouth shut and nodded. "Uh, right. Do you want to drive, Hank?"

Despite his obvious eagerness, he said, "If you don't mind."

"Go for it."

His fingers brushed hers when he took the keys, sending a shiver through her.

Her father hugged her, and after a round of good-byes, Hank drove down the driveway.

"You look good," Olivia commented.

"Your dad loaned me the shirt and jacket."

"He told me." She noticed his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. "Is something bothering you?"

He shot her a glance. "Nothing we haven't already discussed."

"Don't worry."

"Easy for you to say." Hank took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I'll be okay."

Olivia studied his hawklike profile and resisted the urge to brush back a dark curl from his forehead. He hadn't been to a barber since coming to the ranch, and his short hair was growing out, revealing a tendency to curl like his sister's.

They remained silent as Hank turned onto the paved state highway and accelerated down the deserted two-lane road. He set the cruise control at three miles above the speed limit.

Olivia flipped on the radio and found the one AM station that came in with a minimum of static. They were talking about hog futures and the price of corn.

"We can either listen to this or one of Dad's George Strait CDs. Any preference?" Olivia asked Hank.

He grimaced. "Do I have another option?"

"We could talk."

"George Strait."

Disappointed but not surprised, Olivia put the disc in and settled back in her seat for the long ride.

Chapter Thirteen

The CD ended, and Hank listened to the muffled thunk-thunk of the tires on the road. It was hypnotic, and he had to be careful not to nod off with the steady rhythm. With only an occasional car and a glimpse of a solitary golden eagle to break the monotony of the landscape, he could've easily fallen asleep.

He glanced at Olivia, pleased to see she hadn't wakened when the music ended. She'd fallen asleep five minutes into George Strait. Her mouth drooped open, and Hank figured she'd probably be mortified if she knew. But he didn't mind seeing her like this. In fact, it pleased him in an odd, chest-tightening way that she trusted him enough to let down her guard.

He would've enjoyed the drive, and Olivia, more if he weren't so anxious about what lay ahead in Walden. He and Olivia were only supposed to give their statements, but Hank knew the sheriff wouldn't miss the chance to interrogate him. Unless the murderer was already captured, which was unlikely.

A sign announced Walden was only four miles ahead. Olivia would probably appreciate some time to shake off the effects of her nap.

"Olivia, we're almost there," he said quietly, not wanting to startle her.

Her body jerked, and she stared wild-eyed out the windshield. She reminded Hank of the mustangs when they were first brought into the prison program. "It's okay. We're almost to Walden," he said, using the same soothing voice he used on the untamed horses.

She turned to him, and awareness replaced the frantic look in her eyes. Visibly relaxing, she brushed her hair back with a slightly shaking hand. "Sorry."

"For what?"

"For being such rotten company."

He chuckled. "Believe me, you're the best company I've had in years." He winked at her. "Even sleeping with your mouth open and drool gathering on your chin."

She swiped at her chin, her face red. "I wasn't drooling. Was I?"

"No. I just wanted to see your reaction."

Olivia punched his upper arm lightly. "It's not nice to tease the groggy woman."

"Maybe not, but it is fun."

She merely rolled her eyes heavenward. Flipping down the sun visor, she checked her hair and face in the small mirror and wrinkled her nose at what she saw.

"There's nothing wrong with the way you look," Hank said.

Olivia huffed a laugh. "'Damn with faint praise,'" she quoted.

"I meant that as a compliment." He shook his head, chagrined. "I must really be out of practice."

She leaned toward him and laid a hand on his arm. "Or maybe the lady is out of practice receiving compliments."

Hank glanced at her, noting the pink flush in her cheeks that made her natural beauty even more striking. "Any man who didn't notice you would have to have both feet in the grave."

Her blush deepened, but she smiled. "Thank you."

He caught a whiff of her subtle perfume and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. The ache to kiss her, touch her smooth skin, hear his name from her passion-swollen lips almost overwhelmed him. He'd known riding into Walden alone with Olivia would be a test of restraint for his long-ignored libido, but he was unprepared for the intensity of the attraction.

He concentrated on the collection of houses and businesses that lined both sides of the road. The Walden sign proclaimed the town at an elevation of 8,099 feet, with a population of 734, give or take. At eleven o'clock on a Sunday morning it appeared that the citizens of Walden were attending church services.

"Where's the sheriff's office?" Hank asked Olivia, obeying the twenty-five mile per hour speed limit through town.

"Keep going north. It's in the courthouse." A few minutes later she said, "Turn left here."

Hank did so and immediately spotted the stately looking county courthouse with its four pillars. Since it was Sunday, he had his pick of parking places and chose a close one so Olivia wouldn't have to walk far.

With his pulse racing, he followed her to the door. The last time he'd been in a courthouse, his life—and Dawn's—had been forever altered. Taking a deep breath and wiping away the film of sweat on his brow, Hank entered. Only the swish of their clothing and the dull thud of their soles on the shiny floor broke the tomblike silence.

Moments later, they entered the sheriff's office.

A young deputy glanced up from his desk. "Can I help you?"

"We're here to see Sheriff Jordan," Olivia said. "He's expecting us."

The freckled deputy's eyes widened. "You're the ones who found Melinda Holcomb's body."

And you're the one who lost his dinner,
Hank thought peevishly.

"Could you let the sheriff know we're here?" Olivia asked the deputy.

The young lawman picked up the phone and hit one of the buttons. "Sheriff, those two are here to give their statements." He listened for a moment, then nodded. "All right." He looked up at Olivia but ignored Hank. "He wants one of you to wait here while the other gives his or her statement."

"I'll go first, since I found the body," Olivia said.

Hank noticed a tremble in her chin, but her voice was steady. "All right."

"Go down the hall and take the first left, Ms. Kincaid," the deputy said respectfully. "It's a conference room. The sheriff will be with you in a minute."

Hank watched Olivia until she disappeared into the room. He glanced around and spotted two straight-backed chairs against the wall, which he assumed was the waiting area. He lowered himself into one and rubbed his face.

God, he hated it here. Everything reminded him of his arrest and subsequent trial. He closed his eyes to block out the uniformed deputy, the wanted flyers on the wall, the fax machine, and tried to imagine he was somewhere else. However, the smells of ammonia, an overworked Xerox machine, burned coffee, and the kid's cheap cologne wouldn't let him be distracted.

He opened his eyes and stared at the deputy until the younger man looked up, then Hank glanced away. He continued to play the stupid game until Olivia returned with Sheriff Jordan. The lawman's eyes were bloodshot, and dark smudges lay beneath them. If Hank didn't dislike police officers on general principles, he would've felt sorry for the guy.

"I appreciate you coming in, Ms. Kincaid," the sheriff said in a solicitous tone.

"Standard procedure," she said with a tremulous smile.

Jordan smiled back, making Hank glare at the lawman as jealousy made his already short-fused temper rise. He crushed the emotion. What right did he have thinking of Olivia Kincaid that way? Sheriff Jordan was a much better match for someone like her than some ex-con.

"Mr. Elliott, your turn." The sheriff's tone wasn't nearly as friendly as it'd been with Olivia.

His muscles stiff, Hank rose.

Olivia touched his arm, and her eyes were warm and reassuring. "Don't worry. It's a piece of cake."

His tension eased, and he gave her hand a grateful squeeze, then followed Jordan down the hallway. The lawman motioned for him to sit down at a scratched and pitted table in a room that looked suspiciously like an interrogation room. Hank slouched into the seat, ignoring the apprehension that made his palms sweat.

"I just need you to tell me what happened last night. How you found the body," Jordan said without preamble. He moved over to a video camera mounted on a tripod and made some adjustments. "I'll be taping your statement, then someone will type it up, and you'll be asked to sign it."

Hank nodded. It wasn't the first time he'd done this, but he hoped like hell it would be the last.

"Describe in your own words what happened the night you and Ms. Kincaid found the body," the sheriff said.

Hank took an unsteady breath. He related how he and Olivia were driving back to the ranch when his truck had a flat tire; how he heard Olivia's scream and ran to her, only to see the body. The statement was almost verbatim what he'd told the sheriff the night before.

When he was done, Jordan asked, "Is there anything you'd like to add, Mr. Elliott?"

He started to shake his head, the spoke aloud. "No. That's all."

Jordan turned off the video camera and perched on the corner of the table, only a foot from Hank. "Where were you Monday night?"

Hank clenched his jaw. Just as he thought, he was going to get the third degree. "Sleeping in my bed at the Kincaid ranch."

"Do you have any witnesses?"

"No, not unless one of the other convicts woke up and saw me."

"Do you think that happened?"

"How the hell should I know? I was asleep." He didn't bother hiding his frustration. "I didn't kill her, Sheriff. I had no reason to."

"Did you have reason to kill Sandra Hubbard?"

The name blindsided Hank, and his memory spiraled back in time. "We grew up in the same town. She disappeared about eight years ago."

Sheriff Jordan nodded, as if he already knew this. And he probably did, damn him.

"Her remains were found last week just over the state line in Wyoming."

Hank's stomach churned with shock. "She's dead?"

"That's right. Where were you eight years ago?"

Déjà vu washed through Hank, bringing a sense of being on a runaway train. "Going to college in Fort Collins."

Sheriff Jordan stood and invaded Hank's personal space. "Mrs. Hubbard said her daughter was going to Fort Collins to visit an old boyfriend before she disappeared."

Hank glared at him. "You don't think I killed her."

Jordan held out his arms. "I don't think anything. I'm just asking you some questions."

Hank's hands clenched and unclenched in his lap. He'd expected to be asked about his whereabouts during Melinda's murder, but Sandra's death came out of left field.

"I'll tell you the same thing I told the police eight years ago. The last time I saw her was the summer before she disappeared. I was home, and we went out a few times. Had some laughs. That was it."

"She was strangled, just like Melinda Holcomb."

The sheriff threw out his statement like a bone tossed to a dog. Hank crossed his arms and refused to play fetch.

Jordan leaned down, so close that his nose almost touched Hank's. "They say confession is good for the soul. You're already in prison. What's the big deal?"

Red fury surged through Hank, and he rocketed to his feet, forcing the sheriff to back off. "Goddammit, I didn't kill anyone."

Jordan placed a heavy hand on Hank's shoulder. "Sit down, Elliott," he ordered coldly.

Adrenaline dodged through Hank's veins, inciting him to fight or flee. He fought the instinct and drew a shaky breath. Forcing his knees to bend, he lowered himself to the wooden chair.